Going Home
by bloodypeachpudding
Summary: Nothing lives forever. What happens when claymores have lived for too long? Will they eventually awaken? Or is there another end for claymores? Secrets from Irene's past are revealed. What will her end be like? Note: Irene is Ilena in this fic.


**Chapter One**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Claymore. **Day by day, I feel it. I'm changing. Something inside of me is changing. I wonder what I'm changing into. I'm becoming numb. Maybe, I'm changing into a _monster_. What else could I be changing into, but a monster? That's the only thing we claymore can become. I'm not even sure if I'm imagining it or not. I just feel different. Older, perhaps. What _is_ "older" supposed to feel like?

* * *

After Rafaela spared me, I decided that I could not stay in the wilderness. An armless person, even an armless former #2 could not survive out there alone. It was then that I decided to o back to the place I once called home. The place where I grew up and where I was abandoned after a yoma massacred my family. The place that I both loved and hated. Something drew me back.

I walk on. I am three days away from Liera. I am nothing but a hooded figure many shy away from. Strangers are never welcome in these parts, especially if you cannot see their faces. When I reach Liera, I barely recognize it. My breath is caught in my throat. It has flourished since I last saw it. That was when I razed it to the ground, killing everyone and everything in the hopes that I would kill the yomas that murdered my family in the fire's path of destruction. I have the deaths of many on my conscience. Then again, a claymore doesn't have a conscience. Death had ceased to affect my non-existent conscience ever since he and I became close acquaintances.

I was home at last. It must have been at least six decades ever since I last saw it. And yet I still had the appearance of a twenty year old. I see a church. There was a small graveyard. I nudge the gate open with my leg. There were many grave markers as I walked through the graveyard. They were all made of stone. Well, someone sure was rich around here. To put a stone grave marker down for every single person who died in the blaze.

Mandy, Chels, Richard. I saw those names. I should have listened to you, buddies. Why did you guys stick by me when I was in trouble? Right. "We're going through thick and thin together, Lena. Nothing's ever gonna separate us." That's what you said, Chels. Seems like you were wrong. All it took to separate us was a yoma attack and cartloads of hatred inside me. Sorry about that, buddies. Shouldn't have burnt down the village in my anger, right? Should have listened to you guys and let you guys help me. All because of me, the stubborn, obstinate one, who never listened to reason. Guess what? I've becoming rational. Ilena becoming rational. Sounds like a joke, huh? One of those pranks that I used to play on people. Like the one we played on the butcher, remember guys? We had one hell of a time together. Sorry about frying you. Hope you can read my mind like you all used to be able to do, wherever you three scoundrels are.

Strange. Why am I suddenly feeling these _human_ things? I thought I was numb to them, that through being a claymore, those feelings were off-limits to me. Guess I though wrong. Is this what it feels like to become a yoma? It's more like enlightenment than pleasure, if you ask me.

More names. Xavier, Charlie, Bill. How did it feel to get you guts eaten? Why were you so close to me? Why weren't you like other boys, scorning their sisters? Mom and Dad were already dead when we came home after playing ball. You tried to kill it. Why did you have to try and protect me from that thing? You should have run and hide like a bunch of cowards. Like me. You should not have fought it. Didn't you realize that it would be futile? The irony. In the end, it was me that killed it. Sorry I couldn't do that earlier. If I had, you would have lived. I blame myself. And you. You just _had_ to adore your little sister. It hurts to die at the hands of a yoma. But it hurts more to be the sole survivor of a yoma attack. I hate you all. No. I take that back. I'm sorry. I'm to blame. I let you die protecting me. Call me an ingrate. It'll make me feel better.

I thought I did not have a conscience. It seems to have returned from a very long vacation. Nice to see you, Conscience, old friend. Long time no see. It's been sixty years, hasn't it? Haven't seen you around. Good to see you again. Why are you kicking in now? You're making me feel so guilty. Oh hell, I was supposed to feel all this sixty years ago. I guess I drove you away, didn't I, buddy? So this is your revenge? Good for you. Nothing is sweeter than revenge. Take how I felt, barbecuing everyone in the village, knowing that somewhere in the midst of those dying screams were the monsters that I detested so much.

Sarah and George. You're up next, huh, Mom, Dad. Next in line for apologies. How nice. Sorry about the holes in my pockets and the tears in my dresses, Mom. You spent a lot of time making my clothes, didn't you? Sorry about leaving great-grandpa's gun out in the rain and causing it to rust, Dad. It slipped my mind even though I knew you simply _adored_ that gun. Are you disappointed in me? Me becoming a claymore and all? Hope you aren't. It hurts when you guys are disappointed in me. I can imagine your disapproving looks. Don't be. Being a claymore is kinda cool. You never saw one in your entire life, did you? The claymore the village called for never really made it. Let me explain it to you. These people from a place called The Organization find girls. Then they dump yoma bits into their body, making them half-monster, half-human, with enhanced speed and strength and other stuff. Then we get trained, we're given a rank and we go around whacking yoma with our huge swords, thus the name claymore. How nice, huh? Your little girl becoming half-monster. Oh heck. Hope you're proud of me. I made it to #2. It was tough getting there. Sorry about everything. Please forgive me. I hope you do. It hurts not to be forgiven.

Since when did I ever hurt? I don't feel any different. Maybe I've been carrying so much hurt around with me that I've forgotten what it feels like. Sad, isn't it? Don't feel sorry for me. Please don't. I see a little girl in the graveyard. She looks like that little girl Teresa brought around with her. The one who became a claymore and has my arm. Clare. That's right. That's her name. I must be getting senile. And soft. To think I gave away my only remaining arm and I can't even remember the name of the recipient. She doesn't exactly look like the girl. She just has the innocence that Clare once had. She puts a little white lily at the foot of every grave marker. How sweet. She hasn't seen the world yet, if she's so sweet. Reality ruins everything sweet and innocent. She had better treasure her innocence.

I see more names. The butcher, the grocer, the neighbours, friends and family. Sad, isn't it? To be the only one around and you being the cause of so many deaths. Whatever. Don't pity me. I don't like pity. Pity doesn't like me. It's a mutual dislike. We stay as far away from each other as possible. Then I arrive at a grave marker. It has my name engraved on it. Hah, it's quite amusing, don't you think? To be looking at you own grave marker when you're alive. I wonder who got hold of all these names. So they thought I was dead too. How funny. I was alive and fit as a fiddle. Okay. That's a lie. I don't like lying. I'm alive. But I'm not _that_ fit. My joints hurt, the cold burns. I can't regulate my body temperature anymore. My bones ache with the cold.

I touch the gravestone. The little girl reaches the grave marker and lays down a single white lily. I'm not even dead yet, but it makes me happy that someone will be laying down flowers for me when I'm really gone. I turn away from the gravestone and make my way out of the graveyard, toward the inn. I would have to engage a helper. As I depart from the graveyard, I feel the backs of my eyes burning as tears threaten to flow from my eyes. I suddenly feel the weight of hundred of lives. The remorse, the guilt and mostly, the grief. It felt like something was caught in my throat. I could not speak. The little girl looks at me as I pause at the gate. I force the words out of my mouth. I've never been able to verbalize them, but now, I finally say them.

"Forgive…me."

I turn around roughly brushing the tears from my eyes. I return to the inn ask the innkeeper for a helper. He knows about my situation and says that he will send his daughter up. I expect a teenage daughter. But when I open the door, I see the little girl from the graveyard. Wordlessly, she helps me out of my clothes and helps to feed me. I have never felt so hungry in my life as a claymore. I'm losing touch with this claymore thing. I sigh. It's one of those signs, isn't it? I'm one step closer to becoming a yoma. I have to find someone to kill me soon. Preferably a claymore – They know how to kill you quickly and painlessly.

The girl is about to leave.

"What's your name, little girl?"

"Arica. Onee-san, what's your name?"

"Ilena. Run along now, Arica."

"Yes, Lena-neesan!" The girl waved cheerfully and left the room. Eventually the loud thumps of Arica's skipping faded away and I was left in silence. Lena. That was what everyone used to call me. I was back home. It should have felt good. But it did not. It just hurt like hell.


End file.
